Towers & Tomatoes
by sobbing
Summary: AU. Chase Ferguson, an aspiring and sarcastic chef-in-training, doesn't quite believe that he's picked to be the royal family of Harmonica's personal chef - and he doesn't believe that one blonde prince could be such a royal pain.


With a reluctantly heavy sigh, Chase Ferguson set foot upon the vast grounds of Hamilton Estate. An educated guess - despite his limited education in anything not related to the culinary arts - made him suppose the palace wasn't too big compared to some others in places far away from little Harmonica.

After all, the country of Harmonica wasn't such a big deal. It wasn't overly important, army-wise or oil-wise – except for the large exporting of agriculture and fish, it wasn't much of anything. In fact, Harmonica was a _really_ small country, one of the smallest in the world. However, it was _still_ a country – and Harvest Goddess above, he was setting foot in the royal palace of said country to work for the Hamilton family.

_The_ Hamilton family.

Growing up, many fables were told about the royals who lived in this castle. When Lady Hamilton died, it was a huge crisis for everyone in Harmonica – and even nearby Mineral and Forget-Me-Not.

There wasn't a day of his life he hadn't imagined what exactly it was like in this building. It was old, certainly, but still looked majestic as it towered around the surrounding land. Grey brick piled high, the Harmonican flag flying proudly into the skies. There was even a huge water fountain in the well-kept garden, which he supposed was really considered a courtyard. Then again, what did Chase know about proper terminology of palace structures?

Nothing.

The redhead didn't care, either. All of this was over-whelming, golden, even; bigger than anything he could have imagined would have ever happened to him. He was nothing but a poverty-stricken kid who worked hard and hoped it covered his ass for the time being. The future? It was simply something that might happen someday, not something he'd strive to constantly better like some of his friends. Right now, though, his future was looking pretty damn bright.

While he wasn't dressed as polished as the golden plaque that read something he couldn't understand (Chase presumed it was Latin), he had tried his hardest to look vaguely presentable. Was there even a way to look decent to a royal family? Black dress pants and a haphazardly tucked-in white button-up made him look more like a sloppy butler than an apprentice chef for a royal family, but he didn't own much else. He figured he'd buy more appropriate clothes when he was settled in – if settling in was even possible – with a large pay cheque.

Yolanda Becker, an older woman with a hunched back and her pink-orange hair messily braided and to the side, was his mentor for the next few months. Chase knew next to nothing about her besides that she was to retire soon, and needed someone to fill her place – and, much to Chase's surprise, it was him. Yeah, he had top marks in his culinary school, but surely he wasn't good enough to cook for the royals; he doubted he was even good enough to be mentored by the royal family's cook. However, according to the king, Yolanda, and his teachers – he was.

Yolanda had went to fetch him outside of the castle gates, and was currently leading him towards the entryway of the Hamilton's estate. She was friendly, and had tried to make small talk – however, Chase was aloof and distant; unsure of how to carry on a simple conversation when such a life-changing event was about to enfold very, very soon. Instead, he merely nodded in response to all of her simple questions. She had even seemed to understand a little – who could blame him for being a nervous wreck?

Yolanda had even acknowledged it – telling him "not to worry" because he'd "get through it." He had grinned at that, the nervousness slowly easing it's way out of his system – not that he'd admit his nervousness aloud. There was no way he could meet the king and simply nod over everything, anyway. He'd have to get over this.

They were at the entryway now, and Chase imagined they'd be there a lot faster if Yolanda wasn't such a slow walker. Taking a deep breath and swallowing his doubts, Chase watched Yolanda wave over a man who appeared to have been waiting for them – a guard? No, he wasn't dressed in the royal blue uniform like the others who had been around the courtyard – maybe he was someone else, perhaps a higher position.

The first thing Chase noticed was his blue hair – was that... natural? Goddess above, that was one unnatural hair colour.

The blue-haired man led them both in, closing the doors behind them. He was quick about it; quick enough that Chase wondered if he was running late. However, he walked just as fast, and with such a skip in his step, the redhead found himself wondering if Yolanda could ever catch up. Looking behind him, he realized she had went somewhere else, and he felt a bit panicky. He was hoping she'd be there when he had met the king or prince for the first time, but that seemed to not be the case.

He could handle this. Surely.

Following the other man (who seemed to never slow down), Chase found himself up two flights of mountainous stairs and around a couple of corners – in front of a door that his leader had knocked on, just as quickly as anything else he did.

For the first time, the blue-haired man turned around. "Hey, man. Don't forget to bow," he winked, and Chase grimaced. The other snickered, and continued. "Dude, chillax! The king is great, but, his son- " He was cut off as the door was opened by a rather stout and greying man, dressed in royal blue.

Chase knew that smiling face anywhere – Albercht Hamilton, king of Harmonica.

The blue-haired man nodded at Chase, who fumbled a little before getting down on one knee and awkwardly bowing his head – wishing that this was over. This whole meeting thing wasn't his idea of fun – and he wasn't really sure if the blue-haired kid really meant he was supposed to bow. Maybe he was just embarrassing himself to the ruler of a nation and his future employer.

The king gestured with his hands for him to rise – and the redhead stood to his feet about as awkwardly as he had bowed. The king was still smiling, so he assumed he hadn't done anything wrong, after all.

Praise the Goddess above.

"Chase Ferguson!" Hamilton's enthusiastic voice filled the hallway, and Chase nodded with fervour. "It's lovely to meet you," he said, and gestured for Chase to come into what seemed to be his office. "I hope you find yourself here well."

Chase lost his voice as he entered the room, utterly surprised at the smallness of it. Of course, it wasn't really small – but it wasn't as vast as Chase had figured. There was a lot of bookcases, and a very large desk – complete with comfortable looking chairs. It was humble, but honourable – a few portraits of the Hamilton line were hung on the walls, a few certificates that meant Goddess-knows-what, and even a couple of paintings of local scenery. The beige walls were crowded, but it made the room homely – it was welcoming.

He doubted this was the main room for large, formal meetings – but it was probably good enough for a one-on-one meeting.

"Ah, you too, your Majesty," he said finally, surprised at how meek he sounded. This wasn't the Chase everyone else knew – but it was the Chase that he figured would secure him in a well paying job as the royal family's cook.

He sat on the side of the desk with two chairs, quickly sinking into it – it was like a sigh of relief, he was over the hump – the main challenge was done: he could rest, he had met the king. Soon, he'd be _working_ for the king. Chase grinned.

* * *

The meeting went well – he was told he could even move in as soon as he was able, and that he'd have the weekends off (for now, of course – when Yolanda left, he'd be full-time.) His sarcastic side had sort of reared it's ugly head, but Hamilton had seemed to barely care: at least, he hasn't seemed to.

However, he was made aware of what he was expected to do (or not to do, really.) Most of them were mundane things – like swearing his allegiance to the crown (number two), or promising not to damage their property (number five.)

Only one term really stood out to him as odd, though.

Number one was not to argue with the prince.


End file.
